


Persuasion

by DreamingPagan



Series: Elysium [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, M/M, Miranda Barlow Appreciation, absolutely no plot here, also Thomas has a thing about Pirate!James, and Miranda likes her men clean shaven, and maybe some tasteful smut, deleted scene from To the Upper Air, identity ponderings, just fluff and happiness, unrelenting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 03:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10234715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: James has a new life - a happier one than he ever could have dreamt, but the man in the mirror still presents a problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a deleted scene from To the Upper Air, so if you've not read that, you should really go and read it. This can be assumed to happen between chapters four and five.

“I can’t get used to it.” 

He was staring at his reflection in the mirror, and he could not quite help the expression of distaste that flashed across his features. 

“God,” he muttered, turning his face this way and that. He had gotten used, over the years, to the permanent frown he had adopted after Thomas’ death. He had likewise grown used to avoiding his own gaze in the mirror, and to the way that his hair hung when he bothered to remove the tie that held it out of his face, but most of all, he had grown used to wearing a beard. 

At first, he had kept it out of the hope that one day Thomas would get to see and appreciate it properly, the way he had not gotten the chance to do when James had first returned from Nassau. After the news of Thomas’ death had reached them, he simply had not had the heart to shave, nor the inclination, since it helped to conceal his feelings and created the impression that he was older than he truly was. Now, though -

He had looked so much older the night he had gone to sleep in a hut on the Maroons’ island. He had cause to know - shaving one’s head was not a process done without the aid of a looking glass. The creases in his face, his shortened hair, the bags under his eyes - he remembered them all too well. He’d been forty-three. He’d  _ looked _ fifty-three - older, even, thin and worn and haunted and he remembered the reasons far, far too well, now that he stood, razor in hand, facing what was, admittedly, one of the smaller dilemmas he had ever had to solve, but one that held some importance nonetheless.

“What do you think?” he asked over his shoulder, and heard Miranda stand and come to join him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her chin coming to rest against his bare shoulder. 

“You’re considering a change?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“I thought -” he started, and took a deep breath. “It feels - odd, doing this again,” he said. “I keep catching sight of myself. I look -” He trailed off and shook his head. “Christ,” he muttered, running a hand over his own chin again and peering into the mirror. Was that really what his face had looked like all those years ago? Had he not looked at least a little - less wet behind the ears, more jaded than this, or had a decade of unrelenting hardship merely made it seem that way?

“You feel naked. Unprotected. Vulnerable,” Miranda supplied, emphasizing her point by running one hand over his stomach and then back down, and James nodded, swallowing hard.

“That might not be a bad thing,” she pointed out softly. He turned, a frown forming, brows drawing together.

“How so?” Miranda’s arms moved, no longer wrapped around him from behind, but she retained a hand on his shoulder even as she moved to stand more beside than behind him, looking into the mirror right along with him.

“Captain Flint was a hard man,” she said. “A man of barriers and walls, and he began the day you returned from Nassau. Do you remember what you looked like then?” 

James shuddered. Yes - he remembered. He remembered the day he had come home from Nassau - remembered the way that Thomas had looked at him, remembered the worry that had eaten at him throughout the day, remembered - 

He remembered Hennessey’s office. Speaking with Hennessey and Alfred, and he remembered the exact moment that James McGraw had taken a mortal injury. The beard, he recalled, had done absolutely nothing to protect him from the panic that had taken him the moment he stepped into the carriage after being summarily dismissed from service. He remembered, too, keeping the beard when all else had gone - keeping it as part of the mask of Captain Flint, letting it grow because Miranda was no longer there to chide him about trimming it. It had functioned as a reminder of what had been taken from him, as if he had needed one, consumed with grief and rage as he had been. He shivered, and felt Miranda’s arms tighten around him, felt her lips press a kiss to his shoulder blade, and he pressed one arm against hers, intertwining their fingers and relaxing into her embrace. 

“That shiver is your answer,” she murmured after a moment, and James nodded. She was right. The beard belonged to Captain Flint - to Nassau, and to all the blood and horror that had come with his life there. Decision made, he raised the razor to his face and carefully scraped away the rough stubble and with it, the man that had worn it for so long. Maybe in the future he would feel secure enough in his newly reclaimed identity to wear a beard again, but for now, James McGraw would remain clean-shaven. He finished, wiping the shaving lather off of his face, and met Miranda’s eyes in the mirror.

“There,” she said quietly. “That’s better. And besides -” She placed one hand on his arm, turning him around, and pressed a quick kiss on his newly smooth jawline. “This makes kissing you much more pleasant. Wouldn’t you agree, Thomas?” 

“You know my opinions on the matter full well,” Thomas answered lazily from his position on the bed. “He looks equally handsome either - mm.” He stopped, suddenly cut off as James sat down on the bed next to him and kissed him, long and languidly, taking his time. When he pulled back, Thomas lay back on the bed, looking entirely satisfied with himself. “No,” he said. “On second thought - much better this way. James, are you quite certain you haven’t been kissing anyone but Miranda these past ten years? That -” 

James leaned in again, and this time Thomas gave a slight whimper, his clever tongue silenced as he put it to other uses. James grinned at him as he pulled away, and Thomas flopped without any kind of dignity whatever on the bed. 

“You’re quite certain you have to go the Naval yard today?” he asked plaintively, and James laughed. It still felt odd, laughing out loud as often as he had over the past few days, but the unfamiliarity was fading slowly the longer he spent safely at home with Miranda and Thomas.

“I could be persuaded not to,” he admitted, and Thomas grinned. He gestured with one hand, drawing James toward him, and then rose, pressing kisses and nips in equal measure along James’ collarbone, the contact slowly heading downward even as his hand traveled to other areas, working its way inside James’ breeches. He groaned as Thomas’ hand found its target, and Thomas laughed, low and wicked. 

“You’re not planning on re-piercing the ear, I suppose?” he asked, and James shook his head, words escaping him, the motions of Thomas’ hand driving him quite beyond speech. “Pity,” Thomas murmured, and his fingers traveled further downward. James cursed, and Thomas laughed again, his hand ceasing its movements for a moment - one that James took advantage of. He reached out, and then with a twist and a lunge, he was on top of Thomas, green eyes boring into blue, a grin forming on his face to match his lover’s. 

“Persuade me,” he purred, and Thomas’ eyes widened and then raked over James’ form, and when he spoke, his voice was low and husky.

“Oh, I intend to.” 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos loved and adored as always!


End file.
